


Shades of Green

by Ann7121



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23839075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ann7121/pseuds/Ann7121
Summary: Why didn’t Blake return to the Liberator after Star One?  These events, set just before that episode, provide an answer.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	Shades of Green

+Incoming.+

Zen’s interruption came out of the blue and Blake quickly broke off his discussion with Avon. No, Blake admitted to himself, not a discussion, just one of their usual acrimonious exchanges; the barbed insults they swap whenever things on the Liberator are quiet and safe.

"Put it on the main screen, Zen." Avon addressed the computer in his typically imperious way.

+Confirmed.+

Instantly the monitor filled with green. A shifting, puzzling green. Blake staggered inwardly, as if struck by a fist; his breath wheezing in his throat as he tried to fill his lungs. Prompted by some strange inner radar that always seemed to alert him to Blake's distress, Avon turned away from the screen, reaching out to grip his elbow.

"Blake?” That tone of suspicious annoyance, so at odds with the comfort of his arm.

"I know... I know that colour. I've known it most of my life," Blake managed to gasp.

"You know... green, Blake? Well, I suppose that is reassuring. At least our leader is not colour blind. You can recognise the colour green - it's hardly an accomplishment to boast about."

"Not green, Avon, not just green. I know that..." Blake pointed at the screen, at the subtly undulating colour that had now coalesced into a perfect rectangle. "It's a memory, Avon. One of the few I have left intact. A rectangle of green, just like that."

"A ... a piece of cloth you mean? A door? A data cover? Come on, Blake. Think. Why is this memory making an uninvited appearance on our flight deck? And, more importantly, who is transmitting it?"

Mentally, Blake rejected the analytical nature of the enquiry. Somehow he was certain the green shape had little to do with the material world of cause and effect. It had more, in so much as he was able to put his feelings into words, to do with being, with whom he had been or who he could be; but he knew what Avon’s reaction to his attempts to explain this would be, even before he spoke.

"Metaphysics, Blake? Marvellous. You are assailed by a message from an unknown sender; an incomprehensible message, I might add, that could well be having a subliminal affect on you. A message which might have the potential to pose a danger to the rest of us - And all of this you ignore, to ..."

+Incoming.+

Thankfully, Zen's measured tones cut across Avon’s diatribe. It was a justified diatribe, Blake had to admit, but not something he could deal with then and he wondered again why Avon never seemed able to just speak without all the rhetorical emphasis.+Receiving a visual message for Roj Blake,+ Zen continued. +Do you wish it displayed on screen?+

"Wait! " Avon was peremptory, decisive, allowing no disagreement as he placed Orac's key into position. "Orac , Zen, identify the source of the message.”

+That information is not available.+

Zen's reply came immediately but the little box buzzed and whined fussily for some moments before it replied. If it had been human, Blake would have concluded that there was embarrassment in its voice when it finally admitted:

"I regret I am unable to determine the source of the message. The sender may be using a relay that does not rely on tarial cell technology."

Impatiently, Blake over-ruled Avon. "Never mind that, Orac. Zen, what is the message? Put the damn thing on visual."

+Confirmed.+  


+Sector 5, Grid reference 2748, transport co-ordinates NW12/42.+  
***

Immediately, Blake summoned the rest of the crew and inevitably, they disagreed about how they should respond. Avon demanded that they had nothing to do with the message. The others debated whether it would be safe to proceed to the co-ordinates as Blake wished.

"Nothing else? Oh come on, Avon, there must have been something. Why would Blake be given co-ordinates with no clues about what he'd find when he got there?" Vila's disbelieving voice contained the usual edge of panic when faced with an unexpected need to make a choice.

"How many ways do you wish me to say it, Vila? There... was... nothing... else. I am as much at a loss to explain it is as you are, unlikely though that would seem. Would you like me to make something up so you can feel less concern? "

Nobody sounded more contemptuous than Avon when he spoke in that over-articulated, silky drawl. Blake counted on this to turn the others towards his way of thinking, though this time opinions seemed to be veering the other way.

With the certainty of someone holding a winning hand, Avon continued, "It has to be Travis, Blake, playing with your mind. A trap in other words, if you need it spelled out. We would be fools to walk into it."

"It does seem risky, Blake." Jenna, for once in agreement.

Cally chimed in, her concern for Blake’s welfare undermined by doubt. "It must be important. We can't just ignore it, can we?"

"Oh, yes we can. Not ignoring it could get us killed and that's very bad for the health." Vila's agitation propelled him to prowl nervously around the flight deck where he received an approving nod from Avon.

And Avon might even have won if Orac hadn't suddenly weighed in; precisely, comprehensively and sounding irritated as usual.

"If you would all stop this petty squabbling, I have information that may assist. As you requested Avon, I have searched the Federation data banks, and I can confirm that Sector 5 is in the outer solar system and is, therefore, of no current interest to the Federation. It should be possible to visit it safely. Cally, I have scanned Roj Blake as you suggested and I can find no indication that his mind has been subjected to outside influences. However, my analysis does indicate that Blake's mental equilibrium is very much linked to solving the mystery of the image that has been sent to him. It would, therefore, be in your interest to follow the instructions that Blake has been given."

"So our choice is either to pursue a course set for us by an unknown source to an unknown destination where something very nasty could be waiting, or to watch Blake go off his head? Is that what you're saying, Orac?”

You could trust Vila to spell it out.

"Precisely."  
"Wonderful."

Orac's prissy tones coincided with Avon's more ironic statement. A tense silence ensued.

Eventually, they recognised that they had no choice. Orac's recommendations swayed them all, even Vila. The problems that dealing with an unhinged leader would engender were too great to be ignored: they could all recall the last time Blake's sanity had unravelled. Reluctantly they agreed in turn that they should navigate to the grid co-ordinates to prevent it happening again.

Blake was ambivalent at being designated mentally unstable by Orac. It was embarrassing and, he felt, untrue. But at least he now had the satisfaction of knowing that he was taking a step to finding out why his heart yearned so towards the simple green rectangle; to fit another little piece into the jigsaw of his past. And he took pleasure in the look of disgusted annoyance on Avon's face.  
***

By Liberator standards, the journey to Sector 5 Grid 2748 was uneventful, just one ion cloud to negotiate. Avon spent a good part of the journey stripping down and testing Zen and Orac's systems to component level, much to the latter's stridently vocalised dissatisfaction, and found nothing amiss, much to his own. Cally insisted that Blake followed a calisthenics and relaxation programme she had devised, and Jenna joined them. Blake suspected this was as much to have a laugh at his expense as to chill out - her stated reason. Vila amused himself making variations on adrenaline and soma, the virulent orange version proving particularly vile.

+Information.+

Blake and Jenna were alone on the flight deck when Zen's announcement came through

+We have reached the designated coordinates.+

Before Blake could even reach for the communicator, Avon entered at a run and issued instructions without pre-amble. "Zen, 360 degree scan. Orac, have you completed your investigations as I directed?"

"Of course."

"And? Come on, come on. What have you found out? "

"I have discovered that we are approaching a small, uninhabited planet. The atmosphere is oxygen based and breathable. Temperature is within acceptable parameters for the human body. As I told you before this area of space is not used by the Federation."

"Zen?"

+There are no hostiles within a radius of 10,000 spacials.+

Jenna sat back in her chair, visibly relieved. "So what now, Blake? We're here and it seems that we're safe."

"For the moment anyway." Avon's interjection was sour and Jenna ignored it.

"Do we just sit here and wait?" she continued.

"I suppose so..." Blake begun tentatively, when he was interrupted:

+Incoming.+

This time Zen displayed the message without waiting for instructions.

+Teleport on these co-ordinates.+ A set of numbers appeared.  
+You must then locate this artefact.+. An image of a hexagonally-shaped object flashed onto the screen.  
+You will find it in a natural alcove in the rock wall adjacent to the co-ordinates given+

"Short and troubling," Avon observed. "Placed by whom? And for what purpose? Zen is there any other information?”

+Negative.+

"As I said, troubling. I suppose there is no chance that I might persuade you to ignore this singularly uninformative directive?"

"None at all." Blake was excited to be on the verge of understanding and impatient at the delay, making him unusually brusque. "Jenna, I need you teleport me down."

"You're going down alone?" she demanded, visibly dismayed. “At least take a back up with you, Blake. There could be anything down there."

"Now, Jenna!"

Jenna blinked in hurt surprise at the harshness in Blake’s voice, and he continued more mildly. "There's nothing down there to hurt me, you heard Orac. I shall be gone less than five minutes and in contact the whole time. You can bring me up at the first sign of trouble." He deliberately injected a teasing note into his tone. "I'm not crazy yet, despite Orac's predictions and besides, think how annoyed Avon will be when I get back safely."

A few minutes later he was standing before a tall grey wall of rock, removing the object from the alcove its hiding place.  
***

Avon intercepted Blake as he made his way back to the flight deck, snatching the object from him despite his protest and placing it on a small table in front of the flight controls.

And there, five fraught hours later, it still sat; small, shiny and very uncooperative. All their best efforts to open it a failure.

Orac had alerted them to fact that it was not a solid object. Ordered to scan it, it had buzzed busily and then declared: "It is a container. There seems to be something hidden inside."

"What sort of 'something'?" Blake queried.

"It appears to be a memory chip. To know more you will need to find a way of removing it.”

"And how do you propose we should do that?" Avon demanded waspishly.

"You have a thief among you. I advise you put him to work. Now please leave me to continue my studies of this planet. I have little information on it in my data banks, and it is imperative that I rectify this immediately."

So Vila set about studying and prodding the object for what seemed like an eternity, with no result.

"I thought you could open anything. Wasn't that your boast?" Avon coped with his rising frustration by needling Vila.

"Anything with a lock," Vila protested. "There's nothing obvious to work on. No lock. I said I could open any lock and this doesn't have one."

"Can you sense anything from it, Cally?" Jenna was determinedly cheerful.

There was a pause while Cally stared at the object, her eyes glazing. "Nothing," she reported eventually, " I am sorry, I can't sense a thing. It isn't aware as far as I can tell and it doesn't feel dangerous, if that helps."

For the next four hours they had subjected the artefact to everything they could think of: electronic beams, laser cutters, ultrasonic oscillations. They ran probes over it, conducted biometric tests, even placed it in a vacuum for no good reason apart from the dwindling options available. And the object remained, slightly tarnished, but smugly intact. Avon shook it violently, and eventually threw it at the wall in peevish annoyance, causing the Liberator's repair circuits to go into over-drive and sparking identical squawks of alarm from Orac and Vila.

"I give up, Blake. I'm out of strategies. I'm tempted to suggest you take it into the shower with you, or you sing to it, I've tried everything else." Avon, uncharacteristically allowing his fatigue to show, picked up the offending object, placed it back on the table and then slumped down next to the others who were all similarly drooping: Vila even seemed asleep.

In a secret place in his heart, Blake discovered that he was glad that they had all failed. The green rectangle, and the memories sealed within, were still his to unlock - privately, shielded from public scrutiny.

"You all look tired," he observed. “Why don't you give up for tonight? Start afresh tomorrow. I can take the night shift. I'm not likely to sleep much anyway."

"I can't think of a better idea." Wearily, Avon bent down to Vila, waking him none too gently. "Come on, get up, we have enough to occupy us tomorrow without having to listen to your moans because you slept awkwardly." Then to Blake; "This may be the moment to walk away, Blake. Blast the wretched thing into outer space. But you won't do that, will you? Not the simple, sensible thing. Common sense is not part of your make-up."

"Oh leave it, Avon. Have the decency to spare us your poisoned barbs for one night. Take the idiot with you." Jenna's snap at Avon was the result of worry and Avon seemed to recognise this; he simply smiled his irritating, knowing smile at her and left, dragging a semi-comatose Vila with him.

When he had gone, she asked: "Are you sure you'll be alright, Blake? I'm happy to keep you company, if you would like me to."

The hope in her voice was barely concealed and Blake regretted having to reject it, while knowing it was necessary to do so.

Cally, the last to leave, simply fixed her unsettling eyes on his face for several seconds before sighing and turning away. "Goodnight, Blake," she said, over her shoulder. "Remember, we may forget for a reason. Not all memories are worth retrieving."

Typical Aurona philosophy! He found he was furious with her. A race of isolationists, lecturing other races about the value of forgetting. How much had they deliberately forgotten to enable them to forge their calm detachment from the Galactic chaos? How many of them had had chunks of their past ripped from their minds?

 _No_. Blake’s innate fairness arose, unwelcome but strident. _You’re not being fair to Cally. She was banished for rejecting all that. She just wants you to walk away to avoid getting hurt. And perhaps she's right. Perhaps I should just walk…_ But overriding his reasonable voice, another shouted: _I need to know! I must. I must..."_  
***

It was the hour that ancient, non- space faring peoples had designated as dawn. Blake and Inga had once sat together when they were children on Exbar and watched the sky streak with violet, yellow and the faint tinge of azure, her little head resting sleepily on his shoulder. He was innocent then. Intact.

Now his mind was like the patchwork cover on his old bed; scraps of the past, faded, frayed at the edges, stitched together to form a pattern of experience that kept him sane. Just kept him sane.

Once more he pressed the control and replayed the original message. The swirling rectangle of green filled the screen, and again he willed his memory to label it, stitch it in place and add another part to the pattern. A slight noise jerked him out of his reverie and Avon's precise but excited voice addressed him over the intercom:

"How did Zen receive the message, Blake?"

"What?" Blake was still half-mesmerised by the green image, conscious that he was rumpled and sweaty. "Why aren't you asleep, Avon?”

"I was reading. That's hardly important. It has just struck me what has been troubling me about this message."

"Aside from the fact that we don't know what it means, can't open the artefact and that, according to Orac, my sanity is linked to it?"

"Yes." Avon, impatient and humour-free, was bursting with information. "Just listen will you, Blake? How did Zen get the message? Zen's system must be tarial-based like Orac's or they couldn't communicate. Orac wasn’t able to trace the message, so how did Zen receive it?"

Once again Blake was forced to marvel at Avon's deductive abilities.

"That's very helpful, Avon. I think you've just shown us how to proceed. The others will be waking up soon. When we’re-assembled, we'll ask Zen."

Suspicion coloured Avon's voice. "You are going to wait, aren't you, Blake? You wouldn't be so foolish as to go ahead on your own?"

"Of course not," Blake lied convincingly."I'm not quite the idiot you take me for, Avon."

"That would hardly be possible." The insult was so smoothly delivered that Blake nearly missed it, but it was worth it because Avon's satisfaction with it lulled his natural suspicion. "I will dress and wake the others,” he continued, pleased with himself. "Shall we convene in one hour?"

"I look forward to it, Avon.  
***

"Why, Zen?" The question burst from Blake as soon as the faint click signalled that Avon had closed communications.

+Explain+ Zen's unruffled delivery made him wish that the entity was human so he could throttle it.

"Why the charade? All this is has been a trick, hasn't it? I don't need the artefact to access this memory. You took it from my mind when we first boarded the Liberator. Why this farcical treasure hunt across space when you could have simply given it to me?"

+Wisdom must be gathered not given.+

He was tempted to echo Avon's response on a similar occasion, but he reined himself in and again confronted the electronic- moron or wizard- unsure for the moment just how he felt about it.

"Explain, Zen. It's your turn!”

+You are correct, Roj Blake, I have held this memory from our first encounter. Its power was overwhelming and yet I was unable to turn it back on you as I did with the others' memories because you had no consciousness of it. I have debated for some time what I should do about this.+

There was a human quality of uncertainty in Zen's somniferous voice that Blake had not heard before, and he found himself wondering how much of a machine it could really be.

+It was not until Del Grant came on board the Liberator + Zen continued, + and I became aware of Kerr Avon's connection to his sister that it became imperative that I found some way to return this memory to you.+

"Anna? This memory is connected to Anna Grant?" Avon's Anna? Unexpectedly, he found himself unreasonably disturbed that he might have a connection with her. "How? Grant and I had never met before Albion. How could I know his sister?"

+Place your hand on the navigation control pad and I will connect with you. I will give you back this memory.+ The computer's impassive voice did not change but it seemed to Blake to be charged with an emotion that he suddenly recognised as compassion.

\+ Then,+ Zen continued sadly,+ you must decide what to do with your new found wisdom.+  
***

 _A_ scarf; _rare, silk, shifting and shimmering. Bran Foster had obtained it for him and he had given it to her for her birthday. She had entertained them with her accustomed warmth and courage, and he recalls with an indescribable pang of loss, her delight as she opened it._

_"Roj! Oh darling. It is beautiful. Far too beautiful for an old girl like me."_

_He holds the package for her and watches her hands, her capable hands, fumble hesitantly as she reaches out to touch the fragile silk and then: "Run. Run my darling!"_

_The door crashes open, a confusion of shots, shouting, screams and almost before he can react, strong hands grab him, push him viciously to the floor choking off his breath. As sight fades he is aware of three things: the splash of red in the centre of his mother's chest; the complacent, knowing smile on the lips of his latest recruit to the Freedom Party, and the complex green of the scarf as he falls on to it, head first._

That was Anna? That young woman, Sula she called herself then, brought to a meeting by Dev Tarrant and so lovely that any suspicions he might have entertained about Dev - and Blake did have suspicions, he remembered - were forgotten in his delight at her shy interest in him. She had flattered him, used his infatuation with her to glean and pass on information, providing the authorities with the proof they needed to arrest anyone connected with the rebellion. Blake had foolishly invited her to join him for his mother's birthday, breaking his own rule that no rebel should hand out his family address to another in case they were captured and interrogated. How she had captivated him! Tricked him. Had she done the same to Avon? Or could they both be Federation spies? No. He realises, even as the thought torments him, Avon is unaware of Anna's treachery. He can trust Avon.

The horror of the memory crawls through his mind, and grief and anger war with each other for supremacy. Both his parents had died then, collateral damage in the raid, and his memories of their death subsequently wiped. Hands pressed tightly to his throbbing head, Blake relives the pain of those sessions; the constant, oscillating, nagging buzz, the insistent voice, and his desperate focus on the memory of the shifting, beautiful green of the scarf, hoping that if he could just hold on to this one thing, this one image, then the door to his past might still open one day.

Wisdom acquired Zen, but what the hell should he do with it?  
***

An hour later the crew gathered again on the flight deck, watching entranced as a high pitched noise from Zen caused the object to open like an egg.

At Blake's request, Zen explained the deception: that he had detected a deterioration in Blake's mental processes as the blocks to this memory had begun to break down; that he had decided Blake must be made aware of it as soon as possible, because retrieving partial elements would have disturbed his mind; that Zen had generated the message and then teleported the object down to the planet just before Blake's arrival.

Typically Avon demanded further information and Zen revealed that the memories he absorbed from intruders were stored in cells in the main frame.

+The System computers use the information stored + Zen explains. + In order to...+

" Improve the ship's defence system..." Avon finished for it.

Confirmed+

"And these cells," Avon queried further, "they must contain Aquitar if you were able to teleport Blake's cell to the planet?

+Indeed,+ Zen concurred.

" Orac was in on it too!" Jenna snorted her disbelief and Avon rounded on her, irritated. "Think about it. It had to be. Otherwise it would have told us the message came from Zen. That's right, isn't it Orac? You've been it it from the start."

"Of course I was. Once the Zen unit informed me of the risk to Roj Blake's sanity, I agreed at once..."

"Never mind that, you useless pile of junk," Vila interrupted impatiently."That's not really the question, is it? The question is why you both didn't just tell Blake you had a memory to give him and why...?"

+Wisdom must be earned, not given,+  
"You did not ask."

Both computers answered simultaneously and further queries were lost in the collective groan that escaped the group at these irritating, if familiar, justifications.

The memory chip Orac had detected was now exposed and Zen instructed Avon to insert in the command console. Cally wired Blake to Zen and then he enacted the farce, shuddering and groaning convincingly as he pretended to be accessing the memory for the first time.  
***

Over glasses of a Vila special, he shares it with them; the betrayal, the deaths, everything but the identity of his betrayer, and they respond with shock, sympathy, soothing words. Avon says nothing. But his hand moves unobtrusively towards Blake's arm, not quite touching but near enough for Blake to feel its warmth; that inner radar for distress tuned as always to his frequency, comforting as it always is.  
***

Alone in his cabin, where he has retreated to think pleading exhaustion, Blake acknowledges Avon as his friend; a friend connected to him by past and present ties, and to whom he owes allegiance. A man who, despite the arguments and acid remarks, he has learned to trust, even love. And who, because of the betrayal they have both suffered, he knows he must lie to and leave.

Instinctively he knows that any hint of Anna's duplicity would break the unwilling loyalty that Avon has given him. Would drive Avon's conflict between ingrained cynicism and the will to believe, further inward, heightening his natural paranoia; even turning it to madness.

No, Blake can never risk that Avon might find out the truth about Anna from his lips.

Later they plan. When they have taken Star One, Avon will take him to Earth to spearhead the rebellion and Blake will leave him with the Liberator.

Later still, alone again, the memory of that shifting green rectangle shreds and unravels, as Blake mentally twists and worries at it.

With infinite sadness he contemplates saying goodbye to his crew, the nearest thing to a family he has known since his mind was wiped: the nervously hero- worshipping Vila, the devoted, loving Jenna, and Cally, the mysterious alien who, ironically is the one crew member who understands his cause. It breaks his heart to know that he will never see them again.

Never see Avon: never again enjoy the daily, invigorating argument with him or feel the certainty that this is one man who will always have his back. Regaining his memory has not integrated his sense of self; instead it has revealed a fool whose indiscretion triggered a chain reaction that has led to so much loss.

For the first time since he set out on the path to revolution, Blake wonders if he has sacrificed too much for it. Only the destruction of Star One will satisfy him now. It is the only way he can know that all the deaths and betrayals and goodbyes have been worth it.


End file.
